Ch 99 - On Board Dagonir

The Dagonir was a merchant ship en route to a faraway island. Along the way, it would make a stop at Isle Continent to drop us off before continuing its journey.

For a Dwarven vessel, I had expected something more… innovative—perhaps some marvel of their famed technology. Instead, the Dagonir was a sturdy but agile ship, with long, colorful sails billowing in the wind. No intricate clockwork mechanisms, no runic engines humming beneath the deck—just a well-crafted, ordinary ship.

Dwarves guarded their technology secrets too closely, relying on traditional ships for their trade routes instead. Or maybe they just simply preferred the simplicity of sail and sea. Who knows?

The sun hung low on the horizon, igniting it in a blaze of orange and crimson, while the sea below shimmered like molten gold. A brisk ocean breeze tugged at my hair as I stood on the wooden stairs leading to the deck, watching the Dwarven crew celebrate in the fading light. Their laughter rang out, sharp and hearty, as they clinked mugs of frothy ale.

Compared to the suspicion and hostility we had faced in the Heirya Kingdom, their warmth felt like a soothing balm. The captain welcomed us with a broad grin, offering a cramped but comfortable cabin for our belongings. After weeks of hiding, it felt like a luxury.

Luc and I finally shed our cloaks, revealing ourselves as humans seeking asylum from enemies who would see us dead. The crew didn’t pry into our past; instead, they welcomed us with open arms. Their hospitality was a stark contrast to the world we had left behind. Only the captain and Neyar, the ship’s bard, knew Luc’s true identity, and I suspected that Neyar was enjoying that knowledge far too much.

A burly Dwarf with a braided beard approached, two mugs in hand.
“To fair winds and new friends!” he bellowed, thrusting the drinks toward us with a grin.

I took mine, the ale’s warmth seeping through the tin, while Luc accepted his with a nod, his expression guarded but polite.

The festivities swelled as the crew gathered on deck, their voices rising in a raucous chorus. At the heart of it stood Neyar, his banjo twanging a lively tune. His voice carried over the wind, rich and melodic:

♪ Through Dwarven halls and caverns deep,
You barter gold where horrors sleep.
With hardened heart and whispered breath,
The one who walks and trades with death… ♪

“Oi, Neyar!” a drunken Dwarf hollered, sloshing ale over the deck. “Why’s it all Merchant of Death tonight?”

“Aye, where’s my ballad ‘bout the lass with the golden locks?” another grumbled.

Neyar’s eyes flicked to Luc, a sly grin curling his lips. Luc tensed beside me, his hand tightening on the guardrail, his amber gaze darkening with a silent warning. Shut it.

But Neyar only laughed, undeterred.
“Cause I feel like it, ye louts!” he declared, strumming louder as he launched into yet another ode to the Merchant of Death.

Luc groaned, rubbing his temple. “I told him to keep it quiet,” he muttered, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Now he’s practically daring someone to figure it out.”

I chuckled, leaning closer.
“Relax. Not everyone’s sharp enough to connect a bard’s tales to the man standing here. They’re too busy drinking.”

Luc’s gaze drifted to the sea, the restless waves catching the last glints of sunlight, shimmering like molten gold. His expression softened, but a shadow of unease lingered in his amber eyes. “If word spreads, I’ll be hunted again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, carried away by the ocean breeze. “I’d rather not spill more blood than I have to.”

The weight of his confession hung between us, heavy as the salt in the air. I seized the moment, voicing the question that had been clawing at my mind. “What happened to those adventurers who ambushed you?”

Silence stretched as he stared at the horizon. The faint twang of Neyar’s banjo drifted from the deck above, its lively notes a stark contrast to the tension coiling around us.

“Did you really kill them all?” I pressed, leaning closer.

A flicker—regret, perhaps—crossed his face before a faint, bittersweet smile curved his lips. “In the world of bounty hunters, it’s common to become the prey,” he said, his tone measured. “That party came for the price on my head. Some carried grudges, old wounds festering too long. I gave them a choice—walk away or draw steel. They chose the latter.”

His voice dipped, growing quiet and wistful. “Holding a grudge is like clutching a blade. The tighter you grip, the deeper it cuts. In death, those grudges dissolve, leaving only the peace they couldn’t find in life.”

I studied him, searching for cracks in his calm facade. Then he turned to me, his smile lighter but still guarded. “I’m not heartless, if that’s what you’re wondering. I don’t kill unless I must. But if someone’s so consumed by vengeance, they’d throw their life away for it… I’ll grant them the end they seek.”

His words stirred unease in me, a ripple of doubt that pushed another question to the surface. “What about the couple on the Zephinya border? They were just fleeing, and you hunted them down for a noble’s coin.”

Luc’s smile didn’t falter, but a glint of irony sharpened his gaze. “The couple? Oh, the Jedar Company’s owners, you mean?” He leaned back against the rail, his posture relaxed yet deliberate. “Their tale sounds tragic when you skip the details, doesn’t it?”

“They were a husband and wife fleeing from ruin,” I narrowed my eyes, my voice carrying an edge. “Just trying to survive. And in the end, you’re just a bounty hunter who killed them for a handful of coin.”

Luc chuckled—a low, measured sound that held something unreadable beneath its surface.

“A poor couple, you say?” His tone was calm, yet firm, as though weighing the truth itself. “In the state you found them, anyone might think so. But their downfall—that was their own doing.”

His voice didn’t waver, and his words lingered, carrying a certainty that was difficult to ignore.

“They weren’t always destitute. Before that, they were the owners of the Jedar Company—powerful landlords who drained their people dry. They looted homes, razed villages, and silenced anyone who dared speak against them.”

His gloved hands pressed firmly against my head, “And when the villagers finally rose up and burned their castle to the ground, they fled. The nobles who once propped them up abandoned them. The bounty wasn’t vengeance. It was justice long overdue.”

Luc’s grip didn’t tighten, but his presence was grounding, his words carrying a quiet authority.

“Killing someone isn’t always an act of cruelty—it can be an act of mercy.” His voice lowered, deliberate and unwavering. “There’s a fine line between being merciless and being cruel. Mercy is a conscious, deliberate choice; it isn’t weakness. But cruelty? That’s reckless. It destroys, and in the end, it will consume you too.”

His gaze softened, though the weight of his words remained heavy.
“Sometimes, death is the only mercy left to give. When the time comes, don’t hesitate.”

I exhaled slowly, turning his words over in my mind, letting the meaning sink in.

“…I suppose that should explain things,” I admitted, the reluctance still lingering.

I fixed him with a steady gaze.

“But what about their child?”

Luc’s eyes locked onto mine, the space between us growing heavier with each passing second. His expression didn’t shift immediately—just silence, measured and unwavering, as though weighing his answer carefully. Finally, he sighed, scratching the side of his head in a gesture that seemed almost too casual for the weight of the moment.

“Well,” he muttered, voice low and deliberate, “I’m no monster... even though I am.”

His gaze flicked to mine, sharp and unyielding.

“Don’t worry. The child is safe. I left the infant on the open grass and launched a firecracker into the sky to alert the border patrol mages. By now, they should’ve taken the child under their protection.”

I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders easing—only slightly.

“Well, why didn’t you just say that to the adventurers’ guild lady?”

Luc’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something in his voice—a faint edge, maybe a quiet resignation.

“I don’t want the child to suffer for their parents’ crimes,” he said. “The border patrol will quickly realize whose child it is, but… I hope they grant a new identity. A fresh start.”

I studied him for a moment, then took a slow sip of my ale.

“For a Merchant of Death, you’re surprisingly kind.”

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close.

“A child has many things to see before they meet death,” he murmured. “You could say I’ve got a soft spot for kids.”

Above us, Neyar’s banjo rang out, its lively notes weaving through the crew’s hearty laughter as the Dagonir sliced through the restless sea.

For days, the ship sailed smoothly, its vibrant sails billowing in the wind as we traversed vast expanses of ocean. Storms occasionally loomed on the horizon, but the Dwarven crew managed them with quiet confidence, deftly adjusting the sails and steering us through the tempests. Luc and I pitched in where we could—hauling ropes, securing cargo—though our efforts felt clumsy next to their seasoned skill.

After nearly a week at sea, a faint shadow emerged on the horizon. “Land ahoy!” I shouted, my voice ringing across the deck.

The Dwarven crew surged to the railing, their faces glowing with excitement. But as the island sharpened into view, their joy dissolved into a heavy silence. A storm brooded above the distant land, its clouds twisting in menacing swirls of gray and violet. The sea around it churned a murky purple, dotted with splintered barrels that floated like mournful wrecks, encircling the island in a grim embrace. A thick, oppressive dread seeped into the air, as if the wind itself carried echoes of despair.

The Dwarves’ expressions hardened, their earlier cheer snuffed out. One of them murmured, “The forbidden land of rot. The deathbed of the warriors of the Great Bone War.”

In a solemn gesture, they removed their hats, standing in reverent stillness. The deck, once alive with mirth, now pulsed with grief. I glanced at Luc; even his typically unshaken demeanor faltered, a flicker of unease shadowing his face as he stared at the island.

One of the crew fetched a bottle of their finest wine, uncorked it with care, and tipped its ruby contents into the sea—a silent offering to the lost. The Dagonir shifted course, carving a wide arc to skirt the island’s tainted waters.

Neyar, sensing the change, set aside his upbeat melodies. His banjo now wept a haunting dirge, a tribute to the fallen warriors that draped the air in sorrow. The mood grew heavy, almost suffocating.

Startled by the sudden shift, I turned to Luc. “What is that island? What happened there?”

He leaned against the railing, his gaze locked on the distant shore. “That island was the stage for the Great Bone War’s final stand that occurred 300 years ago,” he said, his voice low and steady. “The Virtues and the Vanguards of Eldoria cornered the last of the Bone Devourer Tribe there. The carnage was so vast that the land remains steeped in poisoned mana, and a miasma of rot still clings to it. The Bone Devourers were a walking disaster—chaos incarnate—and even the mighty Virtues paid a steep price.”

My ears perked up. “Wait—the Bone Devourer Tribe overpowered the Heavenly Virtues?”

Luc tilted his head skyward, a faint scoff breaking through. “Overpowered? They butchered five of them, absorbed their powers, and turned them against the world. The war carved wounds so deep that even the Virtues couldn’t heal them.”

I stared, dumbfounded. “Five? That’s almost half the order! How could they be that strong?”

A grim smile tugged at Luc’s lips. “It forced the Virtues into their first alliance with BRAVE, a fledgling organization back then. Together, they faced the remnants of the Bone Devourers on that island. Thousands of warriors spilled their blood to wipe out the tribe.”

He nodded toward the land, now a dark silhouette against the storm. “The island’s cursed by the fallout. The mana’s so corrupted from the clash of spells that it’s deadly. The rot’s miasma is thick enough to scar even the Virtues. There’s no purging it—the fallen were left where they dropped once the Bone Devourers were destroyed.”

“Since then,” he added, “it’s been sealed off. No one’s allowed to set foot there.”

Neyar’s mournful tune hung in the air as the Dagonir sailed onward, the cursed island slipping into the mist behind us. Its dark tale lingered, heavy as the storm clouds brooding overhead, but the sea has a way of easing even the deepest burdens.

On the eleventh day, a new shore rose into view.

“Lad! The Isle Continent is here!” a Dwarf roared from the crow’s nest.

I bolted to the deck, my breath catching as I gazed at the land ahead. The air was warm, the sun spilling a golden glow across a tropical paradise. Palm trees swayed along the coast, their fronds rustling in the breeze, while the turquoise water sparkled, revealing glimpses of coral beneath its surface.

Luc joined me, a quiet smile softening his features. “Well, I suppose we’ve reached the end of this journey.”

We gathered our luggage, but before we could object, the Dwarven crew thrust a hefty bundle of fresh fish into our arms. “Take it already!” one of them barked, shoving it toward Luc. “We can always catch more.”

“We can’t accept this—you’ve already shared so much with us,” Luc protested, shaking his head.

The Dwarves ignored him, pressing the gift into his hands with gruff insistence. Luc relented with a chuckle. “Alright, thank you. You’re too generous.”

Neyar stepped forward, his banjo slung across his back, and plucked a gentle, bittersweet melody:

♪ Though paths diverge, our bonds endure,
We’ll meet again, of that I’m sure.

So journey forth, let courage guide,
The open road and oceans wide ♪

The crew gathered close, their weathered faces illuminated by the firelight and the quiet warmth of parting camaraderie. Some clasped my hand in a grip so firm it spoke of unspoken respect, while others thumped my back with hearty enthusiasm. It was strange, almost unexpected, how this bond had formed—how people who had once been strangers had become something more in the time we had sailed together.

Now, as we prepared to part ways, a faint tug settled in my chest.

The Dagonir anchored offshore, its bulk too massive to approach the shallows. Neyar and a few crewmates lowered a small boat, helping Luc and me aboard with our luggage. The waves rocked us gently as we rowed toward land, the sun warming our shoulders, its golden light catching the crests of the rippling tide. When our feet finally touched the shore, sinking into soft, sun-heated sand, the Dwarves bellowed their farewells—voices booming across the water, a final echo of the journey we’d shared.

Neyar lingered.

He stepped forward, gripping Luc’s hand firmly—his grasp carrying something more than a simple farewell. Luc raised an eyebrow, half-teasing.

“You’re holding them up, you know.”

Neyar didn’t laugh. Instead, his voice lowered, grave and deliberate.

“Sir Luc,” he began, his words laced with something resolute. “When I was a boy, you tracked down the crooks who murdered my grandparents. My family owes you a debt we can never repay—you gave us justice when no one else would.”

Luc stilled, caught off guard.

Neyar’s gaze gleamed with conviction. “The world fears you. They call you the Merchant of Death for the blood you’ve spilled. But to us, you’re something more—a symbol of true judgment. Every life you take is measured. Every deed weighed. You don’t just kill—you deliver what’s deserved.”

Luc shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his face before he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I’m no hero, Neyar,” he said finally. “Don’t make me out to be one. I’m just a man with my own code—flawed like anyone else. I don’t play god.” A pause. Then a reluctant smile. “But… if my actions gave your family some peace, I’m glad. Thank you for telling me.”

Neyar grinned, his usual fire returning. “Even if they fear you, I’ll sing your legend until they see the marvel in it. Mark my words!” He gave his banjo a playful twang, the sound cutting through the waves.

“Oi! You coming or what?” a Dwarf hollered from the boat, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hold your beard, I’m on my way!” Neyar shot back. He turned to us with a wink. “We’ll cross paths again if fate wills it, Sir Luc! And you, Ben—keep your ears open for my next tale!”

“Keep those bangers coming!” I called, waving. “I want to hear your adventures.”

“You got it!” Neyar shouted, leaping into the boat with a flourish.

The Dagonir pulled away, sails billowing, carrying them toward the horizon—until their figures shrank into the vast stretch of sea.

Luc and I stood there, our luggage at our feet, the sun casting long shadows on the sand. Before us lay the island—lush, untamed, humming with possibilities.

A new chapter was waiting to unfold.